Real or not real?
by Third Snow Leopard
Summary: Spoilers for Mockingjay. They took her and they twisted her beyond belief, straining, stretching, twisting… What's reality anymore? One-shot for Peeta, set during Mockingjay. Please read and review!


**SPOILERS FOR MOCKINGJAY.**

**It's been a long time since I put up anything that isn't OC related. My love for the Hunger Games has been renewed, so here's a Peeta one-shot. : ) I've never been Peeta's biggest fan, but I do think out of the two he's better for Katniss than Gale. I love Gale, but I just don't like him with Katniss.**

**Anyway, sorry if something like this has been done before. It started off as short one-shot, during the beginning of Mockingjay, but I eventually decided to do a vague insight to his thoughts throughout the book. It's quite hard capturing canon characters for me, but I tried my best to put my perspective on Peeta's thoughts. **

**Many thanks to JustSlightlyObsessed and ****Raptor-Elephant**** for helping me edit at different stages.**

**Constructive criticism is very much appreciated~**

Oh, how I hate her so.

They took her and they twisted her beyond belief, straining, stretching, twisting…

Her lips parted in an Angel's sneer. Why did I used to love them so?

Then they show me her and her beauty and they slice and they dice and they twist and they mix and they stab and they puncture every wound I have. Again, they do it, again. What's reality anymore?

Hair… hair as dark as her heart.

Grey eyes colder than steel, sharper than knives, as bitter as those berries. If we had eaten them back then everything would be alright now. But no, no, they make us suffer. Make us bleed. We're not human; we're their mutations twisted and sharpened to their very use.

_Katniss… no, Katniss, I lo-_

And then it starts again. Blinding, searing pain and then her face. Her face and she's causing this now because I make no other sense of it. My lungs do not earn the right of a breath of air before the second round of torture begins.

"Let me stab you again, Peeta, and here. Right in your heart. Did you ever think I loved you?"

They're not her lips that speak it, but her voice is that hot chocolate, overly sweet and sickening the first time it splashed my taste buds. She's an explosion, both near and far. Can I die from this? I think it's possible to die from this.

It ends. I don't get my hopes up. There's nothing for me to hope for anymore. Any rescue, any damned attempt would have been years ago. Or was it weeks? Days, even. I can't remember time anymore.

They bustle around me. Each of them now has her face, every single one of her imperfect but harsh features. I try to stop the agony of seeing her by strangling them, but they simply restrain my arms.

I begin to wonder to myself what's real and what's hallucinations now. I must be dreaming because a group of men I don't recognize burst into the room. I squint my eyes, then stop as they start to form her face. No, no, no. Not her. She's always here and trying to taunt me, forever out of my reach as now I'm strapped to the bed with my eyes forced open.

"We're here to save you."

I give a snort. They won't make it five miles. The Capitol won't let it's toys out that easily.

Then I black out.

When I wake I'm screaming again. _Not this again, not again! _Thoughts race faster than my pulse: _she's there… she's there… steely eyes and dark, dark hair. I want her. I need her. I want to… kill her, to end this. _

At first I'm confused. Is that desperation in her eyes? Then I remember the act. She always acted. She even acts now, even though she knows she can't pretend in the way others can. I jump up and throw those around me away. My hands snake out, grab her neck. _Snap it, snap it, stop her breathing… _

Black again. When I wake I'm on my own, bound and restrained. There's no one here that I see. The rooms different to the one before. Eventually I'm told I'm in district 13. Why do I care? She's here. This is my chance, my only chance, to end this all.

Occasionally she comes in, sitting just out of my reach. She's shiny. Her skin shimmers, flickers, and her eyes are no longer grey- they're combusting, so bright… they blind me to look at them. They're like little suns in her eye sockets. Then she vanishes I drift off to sleep, plotting ways to draw my knife over her precious neck.

They try to bring me back. Bland clothed people with ashen, impenetrable expressions flit in and out. Questions. I rarely answer. What's the point anymore?

She still visits. Every now and then. Often she's on fire herself; the flames that I can remember oh-so-clearly flickering on her head. Occasionally the flames reach me and burn me alive. _Burning… burning… _someone should get some water and quench those flames before they eat everyone alive.

I'm shown videos. Footage. There's me in the games, and her. She lies, faking, twisting the truth. Every word uttered through her lips seem false, merely an awkward puppet with badly connected joints. My own behaviour in several of the clips puzzles me. Either I am a superb actor, or I am completely blind. Blind in denial or with love, I'm not extremely sure. I make use of the advances in several cases. My own responses bring every scene to life- giving her empty words a taste of reality.

Whatever. I can see now. I can see the truth behind her eyes- I don't have to act when no cameras are watching.

Slowly they bring in another girl. Pasty faced, blonde Delly. She talks. Memories of home. I ask why we can't return there, and she skirts the question. And then I learn she's been led astray by Katniss. Katniss lied to her, pretending that she hadn't ruined everything.

Her flames had destroyed my home! Now there's nothing to return to! _It's all her fault, all Katniss, why doesn't someone kill her and end this? She's a mutation, all she'll do is burn us all down!_

Haymitch visits too. No longer with breath sour from alcohol. Polished, but broken. A broken man. Well it's his fault, all of this. He should have never tried to save me. I can't forgive him.

Days pass.

I no longer pay attention to them. What's the point? More time. More testing. Hours, minutes, years, months… none of them make a word of sense to me any more. Down underground, where I have learnt I am now situated, there is no night and there is no day. Besides, all there is for me is this uncomfortable bed, those bland faced, stern people and the wavering desires to find her, find her and control her.

They start me on a project. Baking. Cakes. The scent brings back memories, memories which haven't been tampered with. There are no shiny qualities to these flashbacks, and overall I trust them more. I work on the icing, twisting blues and greens and aqua shades into sweet and sugary tastes. Slowly, very slowly, my murderous hands turn back into the fingers of an artist, and the cake looks more professional every single day.

Calmer, I look back on my situation. I need to see her. I ask, and soon my wish is granted.

She enters without the flames for once, though I swear I sense a flickering in her eyes. Unlike her usual visits she actually speaks. She doesn't sit. Her posture is that of a terrified squirrel, ready to flit off. But those icy eyes don't seem terrified at all- merely deadly and sour.

She looks a lot blander than normal. No longer shining, no longer blinding. On her face she wears a forlorn scowl that shatters any chance she might have had at beauty. Her face is marred with faint dirt and scars. Why did I once long for her?

This time I sit calmly, watching, waiting. I tell her the truth. She shows me the truth- that she was bitter, austere, all along. I loved her a lot, once. What had been wrong with me?

She had never loved me, though. Those memories had never been real.

When she leaves, it's with a snaky remark. I laugh. My desire to kill her has been tamed, but it still exists. I can be patient this time. One day I'll kill her.

More visits. More talks. More people. Many defend her, but I brush those comments aside.

Miracles happen. With guards, I am allowed out. I go to find her and see her eating, laughing, full of life. Is this how she normally is? I'm pretty sure most of the time I can only remember her scowls.

I sit. The conversation dies.

How ludicrous! They think I owe them. Finnick, with his sea green eyes, doesn't deserve my bitterness, apparently, for saving my life once. All he is is a toy of the Rebellion. Rebellion, Capitol. Both have their little toys. I'm called a muttation, and the wording brings a wry smile to my lips. How ironic that we all end up this way, that we all become the Capitol's mutts.

My trust wavers as I begin to argue aloud. I can't bare it. They grab me and take me back.

Nothing exciting happens again for a long time. They don't give up- around the clock I'm spoken to, worked upon. They try to bring back the old Peeta. Essentially, they want me to believe all the lies once again.

Then suddenly, I begin to earn trust again. No manacles. Still the guards. At least I'm getting somewhere.

Training begins. I need to be stronger, fitter, faster. No such luck. I'm there for the cameras, no one else.

As always, I pay no attention to time. It could be the same day that I'm shipped off, or maybe a month after I begin training, but it doesn't make a difference to me.

I'm sent on her squad. _Her _squad. This is my chance, I know, this is my opportunity to end everything.

However, things start to turn out differently than I expected.

They begin to help me separate dreams from reality. Even Katniss helps. It's a fairly simple procedure. "Real or not real?" I ask, and they reply. It's slowly anchoring me to this world, allowing me to sort everything into piles. Slowly I filter out the dreams, leave only the truth standing tall and above me.

Not real is always shiny. Like her eyes, her eyes which have eventually stopped burning. The suns died and all is left is the grey. It is just me, or is the grey no longer so icy, so cold? Do they warm up slightly? Maybe they even flicker with feelings, from time to time. Who knew this fire mutt could feel pain?

My confusion is all I can think of. _What is she? What are they_? My memories are just managing to be sorted into reality and falsities, but that doesn't leave me any more confident than before.

Slowly I begin to feel faint emotions, feelings. I don't know what to do anymore. Killing her no longer seems like the only option. However, I can't seem to work out what other choices I have.

And flashbacks. Reality. The difference between dreams and verity blurs suddenly as they die… and then there's destruction. Pods, traps, are all set off. Screaming and smoke. Constant fear. _I kill… kill… kill… she's there… mine… kill… end it now…_

It's like a daze, suddenly I snap out and I feel rational. But then I remember and I see what I've done.

I've killed. I can't bear it, suddenly, what if I'd killed _her? _

They have guns. But they won't shoot. _Why won't they shoot? I just want them to shoot me, kill me, leave me a pill of Nightlock. _No such luck. Now I'm their prisoner, and she won't let me die either. I know I'm the mutt now, not her, always me. The Capitol's weapon. Their spy. The Capitol could take me and make me kill everyone one of them, and in that daze I couldn't object.

The squad agree to one of my terms, at least, and I'm manacled once again. The bounds give me something to clasp onto. _Twist, bleed, twist, bleed. _

Walking. Twisting. Bleeding. Sulking. If I can't die, I won't make it easy for them.

Through the underground, with the stench of roses filling my scents. Screams, more screams, panic and rushing. Mutts. Out onto the street. More screams. Rushing, panicking, hurrying.

An explosion. Half of us are now dead. Yet they still refuse to kill me, or leave me.

And then my world crashes down. Her lips on mine again, so sweet, so fierce. I need her now and she knows it. "Stay with me."

Katniss setting fire to twelve. Katniss leading me on. Katniss kissing Gale. Katniss manipulating everyone. Katniss trying to kill me in the first games. Katniss … everything is just Katniss.

I reply before the nightmares take a complete hold of me.

"Always."

The next few days are hell. The memories and fantasies haunt me, biting and scratching at my conscience. My desire to kill her is still locked within me, unexplainable but true. We travel, hide and eventually scheme.

One bizarre night, chained to the pipe in the dingy, tiny hidden room, I find myself talking to Gale. About Katniss, of course, the Katniss that neither of us have ever won.

I ask the question that's plagued my mind. The suspicion of how she'll decide which one of us she'll go for. Because this can't go on forever. One day maybe the bombing will stop and all three of us will be back in Twelve, somehow. And then what will Katniss do?

Gale gives me the answer. She'll pick whoever "she can't survive without." The words are almost like a puncture, and the familiar bleeding at my wrists prevent me from slipping again. Survive. Survival. Always survival with her- feelings will forever be second on her agenda.

The next day is the last day. Finally I'm trusted with the pill, and I keep it safe in my pocket. A feeling of comfort washes over me, that finally I can control my own life and my own movements. And maybe I'll be useful as a diversion. We have one last embrace and this time I do not pull away, but hold her back, with a faint feeling of uncertainly. I'm slowly remembering the girl on fire, and no longer for the bad things. Not just her bitterness, her manipulation, her lack of trust. Instead her fiery spirit, the strong sense of a fight within her. And maybe some emotions there too. Maybe the flames have cause the ice cold steel to melt.

I watch her go, not knowing it'll be the last time I see her in sanity again.

* * *

Time passes again. Whilst now I take note of the days, they mean little to me. The Capitol has crumbled and now it's at our knees. It means nothing to me. Katniss is a shell. I haven't spoken to or seen her, but I've heard. All she is is an echo of her former self.

At the final meeting of the victors, I watch her. Gloomy. Self contained. Staring at the rose. Just as I earn control of myself, she seems to have lost hers. Does the world not want to work out for either of us?

I watch her condemn them to death. _"I vote yes…"_

I watch her shoot Coin straight through the heart. _The grave, chiding look on her face. _

I watch her carried off, out of my reach, possibly forever. _Screaming, screaming for Gale. _

I feel my own heart shattered into pieces, again, again, it's happened too many times to count. _Smashing, crumbling, again and again._

* * *

When finally I arrive back at Twelve, it's to a shell of my Mockingjay.

We plant the primrose in the garden. It's a sign that no one will be forgotten. Especially not the bright Primrose, who Katniss had risked everything to save in the first place. If not for Katniss' love for this girl, I highly doubt any of this would have happened. At least not in this way.

It's slow, but I become her refuge again. My arms still shake with the wild desires and incomprehensible fear, but they're much steadier than ever before.

Painting, drawing, placing every memory into a book. I don't allow either of us to forget. The bad memories will cling to us like viruses, but we can't allow the good memories to sink into the shadow of all the blood and fear. This way we recover. Never fully, but we can slowly salvage some sanity from both of our bruised minds.

Both the Capitol's mutts. We just have to learn to now walk on our own two feet, and start this life again.

* * *

It's years later. Occasionally I still see it. Something shines, something becomes dazzlingly bright and I learn to ignore it. My hands would twitch as they wrap around her form; in a hug this time, with no death threats intended.

_Kill her. _Part of my subconscious whispers.

I always reply the same. "Never. Never." Sometimes as I uttered the words she would look at me, but now with understanding in her eyes. No longer acting- we've both learnt that she can't fake feelings like this.

So eventually I gather my confidence and courage and say the thoughts that have haunted me for every single day. Every single day in the Capitol, and even those days when I wanted nothing more than her dead.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

This will make everything true. This will separate dream from reality. Everything can be so much clearer. Maybe the nightmares will still come, but less plentiful and much safer knowing I'll have her- not just physically, but mentally- beside me when I wake, and that we both have to let out the screaming together. Maybe, just maybe. There could be hope. Hope for the boy with the bread and the girl on fire. Maybe this time I won't be charred by her flames.

Maybe she'll say it's not real, and I'll wake up and they'll still have me locked in their embrace. The Capitol will still be standing and Katniss will be alive, still taunting, still lying…

I wait, stroking her skin. No longer skin of the Capitol. _Please, please make this all real Katniss. I don't think I can bare another second of doubt._

Just when I think I'll wake up, an Avox by my side, those Capitol citizens with more venom, more liquid poison… she speaks. She makes it all worth it. Every second of torture, it pays off here. And we live on, we live on no matter how much it hurts.

"Real."

Oh, how I love her so.

**Thank you for reading! Please review!**


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